


Sing Me Back

by flyingonfeatherlesswings



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Captivity, M/M, Physical Abuse, stephen whump, well sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingonfeatherlesswings/pseuds/flyingonfeatherlesswings
Summary: A captive sorcerer without a past loses hope out in space.That is until a thief is captured.Because this thief likes to sing.And the sorcerer is shocked to find that he knows the lyrics.





	Sing Me Back

The sorcerer does not know his name. He certainly doesn’t know his past. All he knows is the Rock, the fortress on the back of an asteroid slowly drifting in space. The sorcerer stares on the small window in his cabin, a Spartan room with just a bed and a small side table. He looks at the stars and wonders if he can see his home. Surely he was not born here. There is no life here. No family. Just the fortress containing himself and his Master and his Master’s minions.

His Master is a tall man, towering over the sorcerer, with grey scaly skin. All of his soldiers look similar, though shorter. His master’s favorite activity is to talk, dramatically so, like he is pontificating to a great crowd, not to just a handful of his lackeys and his prisoner sorcerer.

For that is what the sorcerer has come to realize he is, a prisoner. He tries to grasp his earliest memories of the Rock, but it was like trying to remember what your first memory was when you woke up. The memories slipped through his mind like sand that he couldn’t hold on to as hard as he tried. Nevertheless, it was made very clear that he was no guest here; he was to stay on the Rock and do his Master’s bidding.

The Master demands that he does things, impossible tasks and yet his hands come forward and perform them and the Master bares his sharp teeth in delight. The sorcerer takes things apart and puts them back together again, he creates images out of thin air, he makes pure energy shimmer in his hands.

His hands. His hands have long, precise scars running down each finger. They have a slight tremor to them, rattling the papers his Master hands him and makes him read. The tremor and the scars are a constant mockery. Not of a disability, but of a life lived. A life he cannot remember. A life in the Before.

He stopped asking questions long ago. In the beginning, or what he considers the beginning, he would notice when his Master was in a good mood and tentatively ask him about his past. About the Before. Where he was from. Did he have a name. But the sorcerer only received a slap across the face. A chokehold. A fierce kick to the ribs. Never answers. So he stopped asking.

He was a tool. Kept there to figure out the Puzzle.

The Puzzle was a cube with figures carved onto each side. Supposedly his Master seemed to think that the Puzzle contained something important and it was up to the sorcerer to figure out what. But it had been so long, and the sorcerer had made no progress. The sorcery he did for Master was of no use in figuring out the Puzzle. The sorcery came to him unbidden, but the Puzzle would require some knowledge. And the sorcerer knew nothing that didn’t come naturally and the basic names for things. Due to his inability to figure out the Puzzle in a timely manner, his Master would often give him a beating.

The beatings had become worse and worse and the sorcerer began to drift more and more. He had at first tried to catalogue days by his time spent awake between sleep systems. But he had stopped doing that. It didn’t seem to matter, his situation was not going to change. Escape was not an option. How could he pilot one of the ships that his Master and his henchmen used to come and go from the Rock? And where would he even go? And he was so, so tired. His thoughts so muffled and fuzzy. One day his Master would beat him, and he wouldn’t stand up. The life he lived in the Before was over. He was a ghost. A half-life floating in space that would soon dissolve into dust.

But then came the Thief.

Well, he was a would-be Thief. He didn’t really succeed in stealing what he came to steal. The Master’s minions had caught him and forced him into a cell in the lowest level of the Rock. He would be kept there to wait for his Master to return so that the Thief could be interrogated. The Master quite enjoyed interrogations.

When the sorcerer heard about the Thief, he felt the pinprick of a feeling he had not felt in some time: curiosity. He had long stopped staring out of his small cabin window marveling at his place in the universe and where he had come from. His curiosity about the Before had long faded away, but now he felt interested in something happening in the Now.

And so he walked, with a slight limp from his last beating, to the entrance of the cell where the Thief was kept. The keepers of the Rock were so confident they didn’t even lock the door that lead to the hallway of cells. 

He walked through the doors and his senses immediately picked up something and he stopped. The man in the cell was producing a sound. He seemed to be forcing air through his lips to create a tune. He was… whistling. Yes that was the word.

No sooner had the sorcerer realized what the man was doing before his mind was assaulted with clear thoughts.

_It was warm. But not too warm, a cool breeze ruffles his hair. His hair is shorter and styled. Trying to look like the popular grunge bands at the time._

_The stars are out and he’s under them. He’s in a field, in front of some type of burning structure. And he’s not alone. There are other people, young people. Some are standing and other lounge in plastic chairs. Most are holding beverages of some kind. The air is full of chattering of teenage voices, laughing, singing. Singing. Some are singing along to the song coming from a bulky device with speakers._

“And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by…”

_It’s the same song the Thief was whistling._

The sorcerer jolts back to the Now and lets out a squeak. The sound of the whistling stops and the sorcerer runs back his cabin without a backwards glance.

~~~~

The sorcerer spends hours turning the newly gained memory in his head over and over, trying to gain some more insight into it. But he only catches glimpses. The taste of alcohol on his tongue. The crunch of the gravel beneath his feet. The heat of the fire in front of him. The weight of someone’s hand in his. But no more of the song comes to him.

He knows now the Thief could be the key for him to remember the Before. To get back to the Before. And he’s running out of time. His Master could be here any time now.

So, more tentatively he walks back down to the cell, and he steels himself when he pushes the door open to the hallway.

This time the man is full on singing. Yelling out lyrics.

“We don’t need no education! We don’t need no thought control! No dark sarcasm in the classroom! Teachers leave them kids alone. Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!”

The last bit is screamed out with emphasis. And of course, it happens again.

_He is a small room, almost the size of his cabin. The walls are made of cinderblocks and there are two beds and two desks. These walls are covered in colorful posters. And there are papers and big, thick books strewn everywhere. He is with two other people. Young men, but older than the ones in the first memory. One even has a full beard._

_They look tired, and there is no sunlight coming in from the window, but they have enough energy to stomp around and belt out the lyrics to the same song just like the man in the cell._

_There revelry ceases when someone bangs on the wall and they all slump down onto the bed in a fit of giggles._

The sorcerer comes back with a gasp, and this time the Thief is quicker to stop his singing and let out a quick, “Hello?”

The sorcerer wants to run again. But he plants his dirty, bare feet on the floor and forces himself to walk forward. He wants to stand up straight, but his back hurts from the last beating and he has to slump forward a bit to alleviate the pain.

The Thief’s eyes widen when the sorcerer comes into view, separated by a deadly force field. The sorcerer must make a frightful sight. More bruise than man, his greasy hair matted, his lips split. His thin body is only covered in a thin grey slip that hangs from him.

The sorcerer is not accustomed to reading emotions. His captors only ever look at him with anger, frustration, or disgust. But the man isn’t showing any of those. His face is complicated, and the sorcerer cannot tell at all how he is feeling. But his eyes are wide, not in wonder, but certainly not in disgust. The sorcerer looks him up and down too. He is the same kind of thing he is. No scaly skin to be found, the top of his head covered in brown locks, and his face has facial hair, much better groomed than his own. He has a muscular body that causes one word to rumble through the sorcerer’s conscience:

Attractive.

The sorcerer realizes he is staring and forces his gaze to the floor.

“Hello,” he croaks out.

“Well hi there,” says the Thief warmly, “What brings you to my humble abode?” He asks this while making a sweeping gesture to the room around him.

The sorcerer doesn’t really have much to say. He has no name so he can’t introduce himself. He isn’t sure what questions to ask. Well, except one.

“That song. I heard you singing that song. I know that song.”

“Yeah, everyone knows that song. It’s a classic.”

“But you don’t see, I don’t know anything.”

“Whatdya mean ya don’t know anything?” asked the Thief with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“I mean I don’t know anything. My name, where I am from, how I got here. Nothing. But I knew that song. And the one before too.”

“Ah, so I wasn’t hearing things.”

“I only know that I am a sorcerer. That is the _why_ I am here. That I know.”

“Wait you’re a sorcerer? Like you can do magic?”

The sorcerer brings up a hands and a blue light flickers to life in his palm. The flame grows and grows and the sorcerer brings his fist together, extinguishing the flame, blue energy disappearing into the air through his fingers.

The Thief looks impressed but the sorcerer sighs, “Please do not ask me to show more. I am so tired.” The sorcerer looks up just in time to catch a pained look flash across the Thief’s face.

The sorcerer fidgets awkwardly, “That song. What was it called? Does it have a name?” He knows well enough that not everything has a name.

“Uh yeah, it’s by Pink Floyd. It’s called Another Brick in the Wall Part 2.”

“Another Brick in the Wall,” says the sorcerer, feeling the words on his tongue. “The Wall.” He doesn’t know why he feels compelled to repeat those words. “1979”. The words tumble out, like they all belong together, like they all should be said together.

The Thief has gotten closer to the force field and is nodding. The sorcerer’s panicked eyes snap up to him. “What is that?” he demands, “What are those numbers? What do they mean?”

“They are the—” before the Thief could continue though, they both were alarmed to hear his captors approaching the other end of the hallway. They would not be pleased to witness the sorcerer talking with the Thief.

“I must go,” says the sorcerer. He turns to make for the door.

“Come back. Come back and I’ll sing you another song! Maybe you’ll know that too.”

“I will Thief!” called back the sorcerer has he ran through the door.

~~~~

After he had slept, the sorcerer crept down to the basement. All night long the lyrics had been ringing through his ears. _“We don’t need no thought control.”_ He was anxious to hear some more.

The Thief jumped up from his cot when he heard the door open. “Good Morning, Magic Man.”

“Good morning, Thief.”

The Thief laughed, “Why do you call me that?”

“It’s what you are right? That’s why you’re here. You want to steal the Puzzle.”

“The Puzzle?”

The sorcerer sighed, “I don’t know its name. It’s a cube, covered in markings. Presumably very powerful.”

“Uh, yeah,” said the Thief, “That’s why I am here. Totally.”

“Anyway, what is your name?”

“Ah, well, Thief sounds like it fits just fine. It’s appropriate and it doesn’t seem fair, seeing as how I don’t have a name for yous and all.”

The sorcerer would’ve dwelled more on his vague answer but he was just so keen to hear another song. His ankle was aching though, and he couldn’t just stand in front of the force field. He sat down on the ground, bringing his knees up under his chin. “Now, how about that song?”

When he made eye contact with the man though, he was looking at horror at the sorcerer’s purple and swollen ankle. He quickly moved to cover it up with a thin shift.

“Do they hurt you very badly?” asked the Thief, voice laced with anger.

The sorcerer’s face fell, “I can’t figure out the Puzzle, and it is making them more and more angry.” He looked up imploringly at the other man, “But please Thief, my song?”

And so the Thief begins to sing, a silly little song that the Thief taps his foot along to from where he’s sitting on his cot, and the sorcerer puts his head down as he is transported far, far away from the Rock once again.

_He’s in a kitchen. There is a pot simmering on the stove top. He is sitting on a table and there is a woman dancing. She is wearing jeans and loose blouse that billows out with her movements, her long brown hair up in a ponytail. There is a young girl, possibly four or five sitting on the countertop and the woman is singing a song to her, using a wooden spoon as an impromptu microphone._

“Happy feet, I've got those happy feet, give them a low-down beat and they begin dancing!”

 _The girl giggles and hides her face in her hands when the woman turns her attention to him. He must not be much older than the girl, the woman is so much bigger than him. The woman tosses the spoon into the sink as she sweeps him up her arms and jumps up and down ,_ “I keep cheerful on an earful of music sweet! Cause I've got those hap-happy feet!” _The music is accompanied by the girl letting out a shout of laugher._

“Magic Man?”

He snaps out of the memory and looks up at the Thief, looking at him in concern. “Why did you stop?” asks the sorcerer.

“You’re crying.”

The sorcerer brings up his hand to feel the dampness on his face. He had never cried. Not in the Now. No matter how much they beat him. He wiped away the moisture with the palms of his hands.

“Did you know that one too? It’s really old.”

“Yes,” croaked out the sorcerer. “I did. I saw someone. Someones. I think they were…my family.”

The Thief lets him gather himself before continuing, “It was a woman and a girl. I think they were my mother and my sister. My mother was cooking and singing and dancing.”

“Sounds like a good memory,” said the Thief.

“It was. Thank you for giving it back to me.” The Thief merely answers with a wide smile.

Then the sorcerer realizes he might have some questions for the Thief after all. “Do we come from the same place?”

The Thief shrugs, “Must’ve. That’s how we know the same songs.”

“What is it called?”

“Well where we come from they call it Earth, though folks around here like to call it Terra.”

Earth. That’s where he is from. That is home.

“Earth,” he likes the feel of the name of the world on his tongue, “Earth. I am from Earth.”

“Yep, probably from America. Though, you do seem to take a liking to some British music.”

America. Yes, that’s right America. That’s where the kitchen was. Where the cinderblock room was. The field, the fire burning brighter and brighter into the night. Earth. America.

America…Nebraska.

“Do you know what is Nebraska?”

“Sure, it’s part of America, not a very exciting part, lots of farmland, but my part wasn’t very exciting either. I’m from Missouri.”

“Missouri,” the sorcerer liked these new words very much.

The Thief coughed to get the sorcerer out of his trance. “Would you like another? Maybe something more recent, more mainstream.”

The sorcerer nodded his head, “Yes please, anything.”

The Thief clears his throat and begins. “Remember those walls I built, well, baby, they're tumbling down. And they didn't even put up a fight, they didn't even make a sound.”

_There is a portly Asian man in dark red robes mumbling the song under his breath as he looks through the books piled in front of him. They are in an intricately decorated room._

_“You need to return the Tome of the Eastern Palace.”_

_He has stopped singing and is looking at him. Suddenly there is a voice, his voice._

_“Yeah, yeah, I know, there were a few spells in there I couldn’t get quite right.”_

_Suddenly another voice answers, “I can help you with any of the spells in that one. I have mastered them all.” It is a dark-skinned man in green robes approaching from another table._

_“Well of course you have Mordo.”_

_“I’d be very willing to give you a private lesson.” The man puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. The man going through the books rolls his eyes, “You too aren’t even subtle.”_

_The man, Mordo, laughs and walks off to the door, “I expect to see you in my private chambers later, Strange.”_

The sorcerer gasps and the memory fades. It left him feeling…bittersweet. But he can only concentrate on the fact that he was called a name.

“Strange!” gasps the sorcerer.

The Thief stops singing, “Hm? Oh yeah, it is weird. I mean not really my cup of tea but it’s what people like—”

“No, no, my name is Strange.”

“Oh, uh, like Blaxty Partach or Mookin Mazer or..”

“No! My name is Strange. Strange. Is. My. Name.”

“Ohhhh well congratulations, Magic Man you have a name.”

The sorcerer, Strange, is up on his feet, pacing the floor. His face is split open with a smile and he is fighting off more tears.

A name. He has a name. There is a Before. There is a mother. There is a sister. There are friends. There is an old love. There is America. And there is a name.

~~~~

The sorcerer is run off once again at the sound of the guards, but he up early the next day and doesn’t even try to hide the slapping noise of his bare feet running down the metal corridors.

The Thief greets him with a cheerful, “Hey Strange Magic Man.” They don’t waste much time before he’s launching into the next song.

“Then you love a little wild one and she brings you only sorrow all the time you know she's smilin' you'll be on your knees tomorrow.”

_The woman in front of him is beautiful as she drinks from her wine glass. He is in a restaurant, one considered nice enough to take a woman on a date to, and he is very attracted to the woman in front of him. They met just a few days ago but he wants to take her home already. She’s smart, and she’s funny. She can keep up with him. He is besotted._

_“Thank you so much for the dinner invitation Doctor Strange.”_

_“Please call me Stephen. And I’m not a doctor yet, just doing my residency, like you.”_

Stephen. Stephen Strange.

_“I’m excited to begin work at New York General.”_

_“And I’m excited to begin working with you.”_

_They are driving through the city, she’s in the passenger seat, with her window down. The lights flash by and the air is cool, her hair floats in the wind. His car is old, but it is reliable, a gift from his family when he got into med school._

_This music player attached to the car flips over to the song that the Thief is singing. The woman laughs._

_“You like my dad’s music.”_

_“Hey! Steely Dan is a legend! That’s sacrilege.”_

_“Okay Mr. Golden-Oldies.”_

_“I’ll teach you something about music yet, Christine!”_

_Christine. Another old love like Mordo. Him and Christine had gone home to his ratty apartment he shared with two other med students and they had made love. The springs in his bed protesting the whole time. He had woke up with her next to him and he had been so happy. Christine. His first true love. Stephen Strange’s first true love._

Stephen Strange. A whole name. His pieces were coming together more and more. And he excitedly told his Thief. Stephen had even tried to rush forward to the Thief who had stopped him with a panicked look and his palm out-stretched.

“Whoa! No, Magic Man! Force field!”

The sorcerer laughs at his almost crucial mistake.

The Thief starts singing him another song, a quiet sad song. A sad song for a sad memory.

_His hands ache. His grandmother would have said a storm was rolling in. But he is too young to say such things. Despite the grey streaks in his hair._

_His apartment looks hollow and gutted. There are marks on the floor where furniture once stood, shadows on the wall where there were paintings._

_It is raining in New York that day, grey and lonely. 9 million people, but still so lonely. When did he become so lonely? He lost his friends, then Christine, then his hands. With his hands went his work and all his money. What else could he stand to lose?_

‘So much more,’ thought the Stephen of the Now.

_He still has his record player, inherited from his father, and the words of a song so appropriate it makes him sick play out._

“Tom, get your plane right on time, I know your part'll go fine. Fly down to Mexico, Da-n-da-da-n-da-n-da-da, and here I am the only living boy in New York.”

_He leans his head against the cool glass in front of him, before his solitude is broken by an incoming call on his tablet._

The Now snaps into place and Stephen sees the Thief sitting there with an expectant look upon his face. “Well?”

“My name is Stephen Strange. I was a doctor. And then I wasn’t. And then I went and learned to be a sorcerer. How am I here?”

“We will get to that, I’m sure, don’t worry Magic Man.”

~~~~

The next morning though Stephen woke up to find his door locked. He banged on the surface, yelling for someone to come and tell him what had happened. Eventually someone walked by and yelled out that their Master was back, it was time for the Thief to be tortured and interrogated.

Stephen instantly crumpled onto the floor. He thought they had more time. More time to find out more answers, so they could escape, go hand and hand out into space. To go home together. Tears started to flow down his face.

His Thief. His wonderful Thief would be torn apart by that monster and Stephen would be alone once more. And knowing where he came from didn’t help him escape, he still doesn’t know how to get to Earth. He couldn’t go back to go going through the motions day by day.

He didn’t even know his Thief’s name, or how he had come here. He suddenly felt so useless. He was supposed to be a sorcerer and he couldn’t do anything. The tricks he could do drained him and certainly weren’t strong enough to break through the heavy metal door at his back. So much for being a Magic Man.

Magic Man.

Magic…Man

Try, try, try to understand, he's a magic man, Mama, ah, he's a magic man.

_Stephen has strong arms around him and someone is swaying him. Singing a song into his ear._

“…a pretty man came to me, never seen eyes so blue. You know, I could not run away it seemed..”

_“Dreamboat Annie, 1975. I didn’t think Heart was your taste.”_

_“Yeah, I think your music is affecting me. I had that stupid Happy Feet song stuck in my head for days.” It’s his Thief’s voice. He’s with his Thief, they are surrounded by metal in a small space, living space. Knowing his Thief, maybe some type of spaceship._

_He can see his Thief now, he doesn’t have a shirt on. If this wasn’t a memory Stephen would be gaping._

_“That song is a treasure. Great memories to that song.”_

_“Yeah I know, I liked Kermit’s version better on the Muppet Show though. But yeah, you’re the music genius. Oh and speaking of Heart I listened to a few more songs too.”_

_“Yeah, you like them?”_

_“Uh huh,” says the Thief and he starts singing._

“Everybody ought to call you Bebe Le Strange. You look so insane. We gave you a name. Bebe Le Strange.”

_The Thief saunters up looking at Stephen flirtatiously and Stephen laughs._

_“Yeah that is a good one.” He starts to bend over to gather some items strewn about. His Thief pouts._

_“Bebe La Strange, why you gotta go?”_

_“Commander Silmax and his Legion have the Rotraxxian Cube, Peter. You know this.”_

_“Yeah, but why you gotta go alone? I could come with, as backup.”_

_“No Peter, I can teleport in an out, it’ll be easy.” He leans forward to kiss his Thief, his Peter, on the lips. “I’ll meet you in a few days on Knowhere okay?”_

_“Okay,” says Peter and gives in reluctantly before giving Stephen a smile and singing some more._

“Here's my number give me a sign. Call me back if this gets through bebe, bebe, bebe, bebe. I'd never say no to you…”

 _Stephen laughs and throws a piece of metal at the other man_.

Stephen jumps to his feet because he remembers. He remembers everything. He remembers getting captured, having that spell used on him that caused him to lose his memories, becoming a puppet for his Mas—Commander Silmax.

He remembers his Thief. Peter! Peter Quill! His genius, brilliant Star Lord. How could he forget him? He had swept him off his feet at an intergalactic bar and he was head over heels for him. They bonded over a love of music and Stephen had been working on expanding Peter’s musical library. And then his amazing Peter had used the songs to get him back.

And now Peter was in danger.

Now that Stephen remembered he could call upon his real magic, and with a few quick movements he created a blast that blasted a hole in his cabin’s door.

And he was off running through the fortress. Anyone who tried to stop him simply got blasted into a wall. Eventually Strange launched himself into the interrogation room, finding Peter strapped down to a metal table, glaring up at Commander Silmax above him.

“Peter!” yelled Stephen has he sent out threads of energy that snapped through Peter’s restraints in an instant. Silmax stared at him horrified.

“But the spell!” yelled the fishy man. He would say no more though because Peter reached up and snapped the Commander’s neck and then scrambled off the table, rushing to grab Stephen in a strong embrace.

“Baby, oh my god, baby, you’re back,” gasped Peter in Stephen’s ear, rocking the other man.

Stephen started to sob in Peter’s arms, overcome by everything. “I remembered Peter. I remembered everything. I remembered my magic. I remembered you! Oh god, how could I forget.”

Peter pulled back before smashing their lips together in a desperate kiss. “God, it was killing me, seeing you hurt so badly. Not being able to outright say anything. But that evil fucking sorceress who made the spell made it so you had to remember on your own. If I told you, it woulda fried your brain or something.” He reached up holding Stephen’s face in his hands and rubbing away the tears with his thumbs, “I’ve never been so happy you’re a music snob.”

Stephen smiled and reached up to take Peter’s wrist, “I love you.”

Peter smirked, “I know.”

Stephen laughed, hitting Peter’s arm, “Now is not the time for Star Wars references!”

“False! Star Wars references are always called for! No matter what the situation!”

~~~~

Later after the Nova Corps had arrived to deal with the henchmen and the Cube, Peter and Stephen boarded the small shuttle Peter had taken to find Stephen, which had unfortunately taken some time because of the non-sedentary nature of the Rock as it drifted through space.

Stephen curled up in the passenger seat, Peter’s duster wrapped around him, and then dozed off. Normally when Peter was driving he insisted upon listening to his music but since his boyfriend had been through so much, he put on one of Stephen’s songs. They had worked magic after all.

The poppy tunes filled the shuttle as they zoomed through space back to the Guardians on Zandar. Peter Quill hummed along.

“I'll stop the world and melt with you

You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time

And there's nothing you and I won't do

I'll stop the world and melt with you”

 

The End

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs featured:  
> Don't Look Back in Anger--Oasis  
> Another Brick in the Wall Part 2--Pink Floyd  
> Happy Feet---Paul Whiteman  
> Halo---Beyonce  
> Do it Again---Steely Dan  
> Only Living Boy in New York--Simon and Garfunkel  
> Magic Man--Heart  
> Bebe Le Strange--Heart  
> Melt With You--Modern English  
> Sbout out to Meowrails for music suggestions. 
> 
> You want more of my enjoying my tiny little bitty baby rowboat StrangeLord then follow me on Twitter @LadyEmma91


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